A/N: I honestly don't know what the fuck this is, but I really like it, and I hope you will. I absolutely, 100% love Pansmione and I had a paper I didn't want to write, so I put a Friday night into this under the pretense of homework. :))

Reviews are love!

-Solange-

Pansy likes to dance. She likes the feeling of the pole, smooth and cold, against her hot flesh. She likes the lights, bright and insistent. She loves the audience, cheering for her as she fucking glides across the stage. It's the best high she's ever had. If you knew Pansy Parkinson, you'd knew that was one hell of a statement.

There's a normal size crowd tonight. Bachelor parties, old guys, the occasional hyperactive lesbian or cranky wife scattered throughout. She's just finished her set on stage when she sees her. At a private table in the back, arms crossed and hair frizzy as ever, sits Hermione Granger.

Pansy nearly laughs out loud. Hermione Granger. She'd never expected to see the semifamous prude in person, let alone here. They'd never known each personally other in school, but everyone knew who Hermione Granger was. Her best friend was Harry fucking Potter, that boy who survived those weird ass terrorist attacks and taken down the massive white supremacist group that all Pansy's dad's friends had been in.

Pansy makes a decision in seconds.

"Who's scheduled to dance for that group back there?" She asks Blaise backstage. He consults a list.

"Daphne. Why do you ask?"

"I want them." Pansy states. "Consider it repayment for that time your mom fucked my dad in the 5th grade."

"Done." He agrees. "Have fun. That girl is pretty cute."

Pansy smirks. "You bet your ass I will."

Pansy changes into her favorite black lace bra and panty set with a dark emerald dress over top. She fluffs her hair up and doublechecks her makeup before heading out to the table.

Pansy strides on to her mini stage with a smile.

"I'm Pandora."

"I'm Pandora." She greets them, leaning against her pole.

"Well, um, hi, I'm Harry, and these are my friends, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna, and we're here because I'm marrying Ron's sister tomorrow." The messy-haired boy with the scar is exactly as stupid as she remembers. Pansy hates stupidity.

"She has a name." Hermione interjects just as Ron tells Harry "You don't introduce yourself to the stripper."

"Ron! That's rude! Just because she's... a... a sex worker, doesn't mean she doesn't count as a person."

Pansy chuckles. "No need to fight over me. You all get to watch." Pansy nods to the DJ in his booth and her song starts to play.

West Coast by Lana Del Rey booms through the speakers as Hermione sits back in her seat, arms crossed, a pouty expression on her face. Pansy rolls her neck, sliding her hand around the pole as she starts to casually sway.

Pansy tightens her grip as she spins her legs around the pole, moving in time to the beat. She begins to undulate against it, tossing her hair back. She twists, popping her hip out and stretching her legs, showing them off to their best advantage.

Pansy reaches a hand down, casually unknotting the waist tie of her dress and tossing it into Harry's lap. He sputters and flushes, but tucks it into his pocket. Oh, well. She can afford to buy another one. This job is just for fun anyways. The edges of her gown start to drift away from her abdomen and she shimmies gently, causing it to fall off her shoulders completely.

Their eyes are on her as she wraps a knee around the pole, rotating slowly before she begins to climb upwards. Suddenly, she flips over, spreading her legs wide open. When she knows she's got the male gaze directed to a certain area she looks down and meets Hermione's eyes.

"Fuck me." She mouthes. The flush that spreads over the thin girl is confirmation that she understood.

Pansy finishes her set and waits outside in her lululemon leggings and bra set. The note she'd stuck in Hermione's bra would have almost definitely done the trick. That wasn't just her pussy getting wet half an hour ago.

Sure enough, after 10 more minutes, Hermione emerges in her dowdy sweater and worn jeans. And Pansy doesn't fucking care. Her nipples are tight, her pussy is is throbbing, and she wants this girl. Now. But she can hold it in until she gets her back to her penthouse.

"I won't murder you, I'm legal, and my most recent test results are clear and on my fridge if you want to check." She informs the other girl before she can say a word.

Hermione purses her lips. "Well then. Here are all mine from the past 12 years."

"Damn, you came prepared. Hot." Pansy shrugs, barely glancing at the laminated sheets of paper before handing them back. She traces her pale hand across Hermione's dusky collarbone, causing the girl to shudder.

"Wanna talk about the socioeconomic policies of the different UN factions?" She murmurs into Hermione's ear, making the smaller girl's eyes light up.

"First of all-" Hermione started to rant. Pansy placed a finger on her lips.

"In bed."

"Oh. Well, then, yes. I think that sounds very nice, thank you. Is that what you wish?"

"What I wish for is you, naked and screaming on my silk sheets, with me licking your pussy till it's sore."

"Oh."

Pansy gets her wish. But then again, doesn't she always?